


Rat Eat Rat

by butterhook



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unrequited Lust, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterhook/pseuds/butterhook
Summary: Blondie survives the pigsticker and is recaptured by an EvilAsshole!Bond, who proceeds at having an unrelenting go at poor Silva.  No sex, fluff or plot in sight.





	Rat Eat Rat

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a fic where Bond was being a complete jerkface towards a lecherous Silva, which I loved. I don’t recall the author’s nick or the title, but if you happen to read this, you know who you are. It’s the only fic of its kind out there, that I know of/read. I might update this if I run across it again.
> 
> Also, this is my very first fic, ever. I apologize if it isn’t up to standards.

"Enjoy your smirking, Silva. I doubt you will be by the time I'm done."

"What are you planning on, Mr. Bond? Torture? You're aware of my past with the Chinese. There's not much you can do to me that hasn't already been done multiple times. Besides, even though you're a paid assassin, I doubt it's in your character to physically abuse someone who is helpless and bound to a chair."

"You're right. I don't have it in me to do such a thing. It'd be much easier putting a bullet in your head as to inflict that kind of torture on someone, no matter how deserving they are of it. And believe me, I can think of no one more deserving of it than you."

"Ah then, am I wrong in assuming I'm about to be ravished by you?" Silva says with a slight turn of his head and a coquettish smile forming on his face.

"This is not going to be a role reversal of what happened on your stolen island, Silva. If it was, I somehow doubt my sexual advances towards you would be unwelcomed. The only uncomfort you'd probably feel from that is of the tightness in your pants." He says in disgust.

"Oh my, James! I'm feeling a little uncomfortable now. But yes, you would be correct in that assumption, dear. Though I can pretend, like you did, if that's you what you'd prefer." Cutting his slitted eyes briefly at Bond to gauge his reaction while keeping his head forward and chin up with a poorly subdued grin.

"Not a chance. Neither of us are here for you to fulfill your sordid homosexual fantasies. Also, I'm not your dear, and don't call me James. You're not on a first name basis with me." The agent says in a cold tone, his face impassive.

"How disappointing. I was hoping for a continuation of our last one-on-one encounter. --- But again, Mr. 007... if not for a sexual romp, torture, or a little of both, what are we here for?" One eyebrow cocked, his eyes lazily trailing Bond as he slowly paces to the side of him, contemplating what the agent's intentions could be.

"For M... and the regret that when I threw the dagger in your back that I didn't think to twist it in before you collapsed."

"Sounds like a double entendre. I thought you said we weren't here to fulfill my fantasies, as you say? You're not doing a very good job. I told you I was the superior agent." Positioning himself in a way where Bond would notice his growing erection from underneath the fabric of his trousers. It's a good thing he decided not to wear underwear on this particular day, he thought to himself.

"The value you place on yourself doesn't reflect reality. If you were half the agent you say you were, she would have came to your aid, not serve you on a platter with an apple in your mouth to the Chinese. You even failed at killing yourself, as she would have expected you to do. So excuse me if I doubt your claim of you being her chosen one, except in your eyes only. You're another expendable agent, unlike myself. Never mind what happened in Istanbul... occupational risks. But if you recall, when I activated my radio, I was rescued. Even if you had one, she would have never came. You were traded, forgotten and left for dead... or worse."

As Bond had predicted, Silva's smirk had faded. His posture rigid, his narrowed eyes followed the agent as he paced slowly around the blonde’s chair like a vulture circling a wounded animal. Noticing the beads of sweat forming along his hairline and the tension placed on his captive's handcuffs when glancing down from above.

Hook. Line. Sinker. Time to reel it in.

"What exactly did they do to you, the Chinese? Dripping in mock concern. You mentioned they made you suffer, but I'd like to know the details. I assume rape was part of the torture?"

Silva remained silent. His tanned Mediterranean complexion, now pallor. As if it had been suddenly drained of blood. Now trying to maintain composure, but his body's reactions revealed otherwise. He begins grinding his false teeth and clenching his fists. Turning his scarred, sun-kissed knuckles white. The semi he had from earlier? Long gone.

Bond approaches slowly, pulling his PPK from its holster. Looking down on Silva in every way, he pressed the cold metal at an angle against his temple. Almost whispering, icy blues glaring into bottomless brown, he tells Silva to open his mouth.

Hesitantly and with a puzzled look, the ex-agent complies.

Bond curls his fingers inside around the back of the man's acrylic and porcelain dentures, feeling for a grip.

Upon realizing what he is trying to accomplish, Silva retracts his head and jerks it to the side in a futile attempt to cease the removal of his prosthetic piece.

Bond applies firmer pressure of the barrel to Silva's head, uttering one word... "Don't."

Silva stiffens and resigns, eyes closed and brows furrowed. Wincing as he hears a wet pop from the loss of suction as his artificial jaw is slowly being extracted from his mouth. The weight of his sagging cheek causes his drooping eyelid to water. A string of saliva thinly connected from his bottom lip to his prosthesis is severed as it's pulled away.

Bond, momentarily gawking at the surgical artwork he held in hand with morbid fascination, quickly tosses it in sudden disgust. Sending it clanging across the floor. Wiping the Silva’s drool from his hand on what he assumed was a quite expensive brown vest and multicolored silk dress shirt, at the same time being able to feel the pseudo blonde’s escalating heartbeat.

Silva, in anger and degradation, lowered his head down and to the left to hide his disfigurement and avoid the agent's stare of revulsion.

"Fuck. I remember viewing it at a distance from your holding cell at MI6, but it doesn't compare to the grotesqueness of seeing it up close like this. You truly are a real life Quasimodo. All the hair bleach, flamboyant Prada suits, black leather and turtlenecks couldn't draw anyone's eyes away from that level of hideousness." James said invectively.

In a cruel, higher pitched voice he quipped “Only a face mother could love... except she didn't.”

"Sil-va?" Bond bending over sideways to meet his blank gaze. 

"You don't seem your frippery self. --- What's wrong, rat got your jaw? I still have more questions, if you're able to answer them with that elephant man mouth of yours?" Twice tapping his hollowed, sagging jowl, causing it to jiggle and the man it belonged to, to flinch.

"So, did they force you to suck cock after you swallowed the cyanide capsule? I know I certainly wouldn't want my dick anywhere near that gaping maw. As much hell as they wanted to put you through, I'm sure they couldn't bring themselves to, either." Bond said, going for the jugular.

"I imagine tea bagging was out of the question as well. You'd give a man an unwanted vasectomy with those snaggle teeth, not to mention a quite a nasty infection."

His breathing now erratic, his chest rapidly rising up and down. His body tensing, straining the buttons of his vest so much they were on the verge of popping off. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles and fails to swallow due to the lack of a palate.

"Don't start PTSD'ing on me now. I don't have time for you to reminisce about your dalliances during your stay at your luxury resort in Asia."

"And about Severine... purchasing and raping a sex slave. --- Was that really the only way you were able to get laid by a woman? It sounds like some sort of failed attempt at reclaiming part of your pitiful manhood after the Chinese interrogators had their way with you. I suppose she would have never willingly spread her legs for you (like she did for me) any other way, especially if she knew of your facial deformity. That, and more than likely a train being ran on you."

Silva hung his head down, chin to chest. Droplets of salty liquid being absorbed on his lap by his dark brown designer pants. Bond grabs a fistful of the bleach blonde hair, yanking his face up to meet his own. The white of Silva's eyes had turned red, tears streaming down his now roseate cheeks, mingling with the saliva at the bottom of his chin. The supratrochlear vein on his forehead bulging, his face contorted in anguish.

With the stoic wall crumbled, all that was left behind the rubble was defeat and vulnerability. Bond witnessing a glimmer of the man he once was. In that moment, he arrived at a decision... the only decision that could be made…

"I'm going to do you a merciful favor. Not for Silva, but you, Tiago... what's left of you."

Not giving himself the chance to change his mind, Bond swiftly aimed the barrel of the gun between the his eyes and pulled the trigger before the ex-00 had time to react. A flash of light briefly lit between them in the darkened room. The force of the bullet entering his skull caused his head to jerk back before lolling back to rest on his chest.

Staring at a slumped over Silva in his chair, Bond paused briefly, a pang of pity on his face. For the first time since they met he looked as if he was finally at peace… unfortunate that it could only be attained in death.

Backing away slowly, having difficulty pulling his eyes away from the lax body before him. He isn't able to disengage himself this time, like he had with all his other kills. He tries to convince himself that Tiago was beyond repair. Old Yeller, once rabid, had to be put down. There was no other alternative. Bond doesn’t quite succeed.

Finally bringing himself to walk away, he turns on his heels, eager to create distance between him and the empty shell of a man behind him. He grabs the prosthetic jaw off the floor on his way out, leaving the remainder for the rats.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know... just wanted to. A tragic ending for a mentally tortured Silva gives me a stiffy.
> 
> Feel free to form a mob (if there's enough left in the fandom) and light the torches. All I ask for is a head start.


End file.
